


Break the rules

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cultural Differences, Gen, M/M, Music, light competition between cousins, snarky!Maglor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:52:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4131577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finrod is learning music and finds his precocious cousin rather infuriating at times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break the rules

“Alright then, cousin” said Macalaurë, with half a smile playing about his lips. “Show me what you have learned, while you’ve been off in Alqualondë.”

Findaráto drummed his fingers on the inlaid wood of his harp. “You will not like it. I play like a Teler, and you like a Noldo.” In truth, he was a little nervous of what his renowned cousin, already the most brilliant young musician and composer in Tirion, would think of his playing, though he refused to tell Macalaurë this.

“I want to hear anyway.”

Findaráto rolled his eyes. “Fine.” Humming a note to himself, he began to play, the beginning of a new song written by his music master at the court of king Olwë, from which he had only just returned. 

Macalaurë listened, his face concentrated, his head tilted to one side. 

After Findaráto had finished, letting the last notes die away in the air between them, he raised an eyebrow at Macalaurë, who was still staring at Findaráto’s hands, now resting still on the harp strings. “So? What did you think?”

“Well, it was very…” Macalaurë cast around for the right word “… _technically correct_. You play as though you were drilling the royal guards!” A twist of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. “I had not known the Teleri went for that style. Last time I was in Alqualondë, it was all fluid, lilting melodies, and improvisation until one could hardly recognise the piece.”

“It is still so in Alqualondë.”

Macalaurë laughed. “Then it must just be you. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, cousin, but you were in error before. You play in the worst of all possible Noldorin styles, that of the living metronome. Listening to you, one would think music is a mere collection of rules to be followed and naught else.”

Findaráto pursed his lips. “I’m just learning. You have to follow the rules when you’re learning.”

“And quite right too” said Macalaurë. “But one day…” he picked up his own harp, beginning the same melody that Findaráto had played, adding flourishes and trills effortlessly “…one day you will be good enough to _break_  the rules.”

 _He must have picked it up perfectly and exactly by ear just now_ , thought Findaráto jealously, for the melody had not even been copied and distributed from his teacher’s studio in Alqualondë yet, as far as he knew. _Damn cousin Macalaurë and his effortless talent_. 

He realised he must be staring as Macalaurë came to the end of the piece, finishing with a cadence that was much better than the original. Findaráto wished he could wipe that slightly smug smile off Macalaurë’s face, the smile that Fëanor and his sons all seemed to share. 

“One could accuse  _you_  of playing like a Teler” said Findaráto “rather than like the proper Noldo you profess to be in court.”

Macalaurë shrugged, laying aside his harp and stretching like a cat. “One could. But one would be incorrect. I don’t play  _like_  anybody. I play like me.”

And despite himself, Findaráto had to admit that he was entirely correct. 


End file.
